


On Nights Like These

by SleepingReader



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: (again), Awkwardness, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hugging, Humor, Insomnia, pure fluff, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: On nights like these, Héctor wished he could sleep.He had not slept for a hundred years. Not since he died.Turns out Imelda hadn't been able to sleep either...





	On Nights Like These

On nights like these, the dead wish they could sleep. 

Héctor Rivera lay on his back the makeshift couch-bed in the living room of the Rivera House, recovering from his Final Death. His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t sleep. He had never been able to sleep. Not for a hundred years. He guessed that the Dead did not sleep. Or maybe it was just him, since his friends in Shantytown had always been able to sleep, or pretend very well. 

He turned onto his side. The house smelled like home. Floor polish, fresh food. Sweet potatoes. He breathed in deeply, and smiled, keeping his eyes closed.  
When he kept them closed like that, it seemed as if he was back inside his living body. As if he was just taking a nap on the living room couch. He remembered that the pillow always smelled like Imelda’s hair. He buried his face in his own pillow. It smelled of marigold and… yes, indeed. Of Imelda. She had the same shampoo in this land as she had had in the previous. When he had busked in Plaza del La Crus here, he had once been able to purchase the smallest amount of the shampoo Imelda owned. He had opened the bottle, and had smelled it every once in a while, to remind himself.  
Of what he had done.  
Of what he could never do again.  
Héctor squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry.  
_No, Héctor. Pretend you’re alive again. Don’t be sad. Enjoy this while it lasts!_ he told himself.  
So he did. 

He dug his fingers into the soft fabric of the couch-bed. He smelled the pillow. If he breathed in deep enough, he could smell the floor polish, the food and the potatoes. He even imagined he could smell the oil that Imelda used to soothe Coco’s hurting knees.  
He smiled.  
He was home again.  
But still, he could not sleep.  
So he imagined instead. 

He imagined Imelda sleeping upstairs in their bedroom while he, Héctor, had stayed up late reading, or writing music. He imagined Imelda rolling over in her bed, missing his warmth.  
He imagined her coming down on slippered feet, and opening the living room door, the door that would always _creaaakk_ , no matter what they tried.  
He imagined her coming up to the couch, standing over him. Smiling. Oh, how he longed to see her smile again.  
She would lean over the backrest, and stroke his hair softly…  
Wow, his imagination was really _good_! He could feel her hand…

‘ _Ay, mi amor…_ ’ someone said, regret in their voice.  
Héctor startled and yelped. He got tangled in his blanket. He fell off the couch. He opened his eyes  
‘ _Aa!_ ’ he shouted at the dark figure standing over him  
‘ _Aa!_ ’ the person who had been stroking his hair exclaimed. Then, a swift slipper to his head.  
‘Ai!’ Héctor said.  
‘You _tonto_ , I thought you were asleep!’ Imelda shouted at him. She followed up with a couple of curses, immediately retreating her hands from the backrest. So she _had_ been stroking his hair!  
‘No, no.. I… wasn’t.’ Héctor said sheepishly. ‘Were… were you?’  
‘Me?’ Imelda asked. ‘No… No. No, I can’t sleep. I don’t sleep. It distracts from… things.’  
‘You can’t sleep or you don’t sleep?’ Héctor asked, a glint forming in his eye. Maybe he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.  
‘I don’t sleep!’ Imelda hissed at him.  
‘It would have been okay if you couldn’t sleep, you know.’ Héctor said, shrugging. ‘Me, I’ve never slept in a hundred years! Last time I slept was when I woke up here.’ He puffed up his chest, as if bragging.  
Imelda ran her hands over her shoulders.  
‘If you must know… Me too. I haven’t been able to sleep since I got here.’ She confessed, sitting down on the couch. ’But all the rest can!’ She whined slightly.

In a flash, he was reminded of Imelda when she was with child.  
She woke him up sometimes. ‘Héctor, I can’t sleep. The little _hija_ keeps kicking! And the rest of the _pueblo_ seems to have no trouble!’ She would say, nearly crying from the exhaustion and the hormones.  
He would take her and their unborn child into his arms and sing softly. Sometimes, he would read to them. Fairy tales, music books.  
Imelda would always fall asleep right then. 

In her eyes, he saw that she was thinking about the same thing. Oh, how much he wanted to hold Imelda in his arms. To sing and read to her until sleep caught her.  
But he would never do that again. Not without her permission. And he would never get that. 

‘I am… happy Coco didn’t forget you, Héctor’, Imelda said.  
‘I am too. But I guess I kind of deserved it, right? Leaving in the first place?’ He asked, sitting down next to her on the couch.  
‘Well, yes. That was _estupido_ of you. But…’  
‘Yes?’ He asked, wanting her to continue.  
‘Was it true what Miguel said? That you wanted to return immediately? Before De La Cruz…’  
‘ _Sí._ Every day. Every second. Every heartbeat I wanted to return to you and Coco. But De La Cruz was always so… persuasive.’ Héctor faltered. ‘And I was young. And… _estupido_ ’ he said, tearing up.  
‘You are still young, Héctor…’ Imelda said. ‘So much younger than I am…’  
‘I have always been younger than you are!’ He said. And it was true. He was a year younger than Imelda.  
‘Héctor, you died at 21.’ Imelda deadpanned. ‘I am seventy-six.’ She said.  
Héctor pretended to look shocked. ‘ _Dios mío_ , you don’t look a day over twenty-five. Look at you! No wrinkles at all! And so skinny! What a waistline! Tell me. What did you do to look like that?’ Héctor said, taking up the role of interviewer.  
Imelda laughed, and punched him lightly in the shoulder. Her hand lingered a bit longer than was usual for a shoulder-punching. She let it brush his upper arm, and then let it fall down into her lap.  
They looked down in their respective laps. It was awkward. Héctor coughed slightly. He tried to start a sentence, but it died in his throat.

On nights like these, the dead wish they could sleep. 

‘I… I died in my sleep.’ Imelda confessed.  
‘Really? That’s good.’ Héctor said. ‘Not that you died, of course, but that it was… peaceful?’  
‘It was.’ Imelda nodded. ‘I died with my _familia_ standing over me, and Pepita curled up at my feet.  
‘Pepita was your cat in real life?’ Héctor asked.  
’ _Sí…_. A grey-white tabby…’ Imelda said. She looked uncomfortable. ‘How did it feel for you?’ She asked tentatively.  
There was a silence.  
‘If you don’t want to talk about…’ Imelda began, but Héctor silenced her with a slight smile.  
‘I don’t mind, Imelda.’ He said softly. ‘I just wish it was as nice as yours…’ he murmured. ‘I died on the street, in my fancy mariachi suit. I was going to the train station to go back to you and Coco, and I wanted to look my best. Then… I can remember burning, and Ernesto saying it must have been the chorizo. It hurt… It hurt so much. It felt like… drowning. Turns out I was drowning. In my own vomit… And then… I woke up. Here. No Ernesto, no you. Nothing. I lost the mariachi suit after the first Dia de Muertos. Traded it for passage. Didn’t work.’ he finished, shrugging off the bad memory.  
‘Héctor…’ Imelda began, but Héctor waved it off with a smile.  
‘Don’t worry about it, _mi a-_ , I mean Imelda.’ He said, correcting himself and mentally slapping himself for almost slipping up. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Can I hold your hand?’ Imelda suddenly asked. That was a surprise for both of them. Imelda had been thinking about it, but was trying not to say it. Was trying not to look at his hand. Trying not to wonder if her smaller one would still fit so nicely inside it. Was trying not to remember his warm skin.  
Héctor, meanwhile, was just surprised. He looked at her, wide eyed.  
‘Forget it, I was being…’ Imelda began, but Héctor stuck out his right hand.  
‘Of course you can hold my hand, Imelda.’ He said softly. To his credit, he wasn’t smiling. He looked like he should be blushing.  
Imelda hesitated. Then, she softly placed her left hand in his right.  
Lightning seemed to strike, but slowly. All the remaining nerves in Imelda’s bones told her that _yes_ , this was where she belonged. This was real.  
Héctor looked shocked, and she could see that he had the same sensation as she did. They had held hands before, but only to deliver the petal to Miguel. Not on purpose. Not like they used to, once. 

Héctor held her hand, but before long, he started playing with her fingers, like he had always done. Flexing her pinkie, making them do a funny salute he saw some skeletons in shiny blue, gold and red uniforms do once. Spreading his fingers over hers and marvelling at how they fit together. And Imelda let him. She even sighed a little at the familiar feelings. Their legs brushed. Unknowingly, they had drifted closer together. More lightning.  
Imelda wondered…  
‘Could I maybe…’ She asked at the same time Héctor said:  
‘Would it be okay if I…’  
Then, there was a general confusion and some sentences about ‘no, you go first’. In the end, it was established that Héctor would go first.  
‘I was just… Wondering. After you sang La Llorona, you… embraced me. Would it be okay if I… hugged you back someday? When you feel like hugging again? It was a bit hard with a guitar in the way…’ he said, sometimes faltering on his words.  
Imelda smiled. She had just been about to ask if she could hug him again. 

She stood up, still holding his hand. Pulled him up with her. They looked at each other for about two seconds. Then, Imelda stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his chest. She hugged him. And he, tentatively, as if he were afraid she would break apart or vanish, hugged her back. 

It was as if the universe had bought super-glue and had pasted them together. For a brief moment in time, it seemed as if time itself had stopped just to look at them hugging. As if the spirit of music looked up upon this moment and had written a soft soundtrack. Imelda hugged Héctor a little tighter. He responded by doing the same.  
To Imelda it was like 56 years had fallen off, and her husband had returned.  
For Héctor, it felt like he had finally come home. The floor smelled like polish, Imelda’s loose hair smelled like her favourite raspberry shampoo. He buried his face in it. She yawned.  
In the funny way people do, Héctor yawned as well. He suddenly felt rather sleepy. Imelda looked at him with hooded eyes. She smiled sleepily.  
‘You should probably try to get some rest, Imelda’ Héctor said gently. She nodded. They let go.  
‘ _Buenos noches,_ Héctor,’ she said, softly stroking his cheek.  
He closed his eyes.  
‘ _Duerma bien_ , Imelda,’ he replied. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. He heard a door close upstairs. He hoped she could get some sleep tonight. ‘ _Mi amor_ ’ he muttered to the world in general. He lay back down on the couch.  
But sleep didn’t come. 

On nights like these, the dead wish they could sleep. 

After about an hour of tossing and turning, Héctor decided to read some more. Sleeping was overrated anyway.  
He was just on page eight when a door opened upstairs. Footfalls thudded down the stairs. Héctor looked at the door, hopefully.  
‘ _Hola,_ thingie… Héctor. _Sediento…_ ’ Felipe said sleepily. He went to the kitchen and got himself some water. Then he stood in the middle of the living room and drank it while he was staring at Héctor. It made Héctor uncomfortable, but Felipe didn’t seem to notice.  
‘Can’t sleep?’ Felipe asked.  
‘Never…’ Héctor said, turning over a page.  
‘Huh.’ Felipe said. ‘Try a large tiger.’  
‘What?’ Héctor asked.  
‘Yeah, or spiders.’ Felipe said.  
‘What??’ Héctor asked.  
‘Bleh.’ Felipe said. He went to the kitchen and put the water glass in the sink. He stood in the living room for about ten more awkward seconds, then sort of waggled his eyebrows at Héctor and went back upstairs. Héctor heard his footsteps, and his door slam.  
Héctor shook himself and continued with his book. Stupid sleepwalkers. 

He was on page twenty-five when he heard a door open. Soft footfalls thudded down the stairs.  
‘Felipe, I swear to… Oh. _Hola,_ Imelda. Can’t sleep?’ He asked her. She shook her head. She was so tired, so incredibly tired. She had not felt this tired since she pulled three all-nighters to make shoes, when she was still alive.  
‘You… want another hug?’ He tried. She nodded, looking far younger than she was.  
He wrapped her in his arms again, and the universe felt right once more.  
Imelda was quite done with this. She wanted to sleep, and she could tell that Héctor wanted the same.  
‘Héctor, would you mind testing a theory with me?’ She asked.  
‘Sure?’ He said.  
‘Come.’ She said. ‘That stupid couch is going to ruin your back anyway.’ She grabbed his hand, and lead him upstairs, to her room. The double bed was unmade, but soft. She sat on the edge. Héctor sat awkwardly next to her.  
‘So… your theory?’  
‘Yes. My theory is that hugging helps you sleep.’ She said. ‘And since you’ve just come back from being almost-forgotten, it would be good if you slept for a change.’  
Héctor nodded. He could see where she was going with this.  
‘Yes, well, if you think it will help…’ he said.  
‘I am certain.’ Imelda said, and lay down on the left side of the bed. Héctor hesitated.  
‘Well, come on. Can’t get better if you sit there, looking stupid!’ Imelda said.  
Héctor quickly slid in between the sheets.  
Imelda held out her arms and he wiggled between them. She put her head to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. It felt good. Right. Almost immediately, Imelda’s breathing began to slow. Héctor felt his own limbs grow heavy, too.  
‘..missed this. …missed you…’ She murmured, nuzzling into his chestbones. It felt weird, bone-over-bone, but oddly soft, too. Héctor nodded slightly and then realised she could not see him.  
‘Me, too.’ He said. Imelda smiled against his ribcage. 

On nights like these, the dead wish they could stay awake.

**Author's Note:**

> I started with the first sentence and just let the story go like it wanted to. 
> 
> It is possible that Imelda is slightly OOC, but hey, let her be. She's tired as heck.  
> So am I, by the way. Man, I want hugs like that!
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always! If you have prompts for me, don't hesitate to send 'em!


End file.
